I was born under the name of:
Roman Eugene William Killens
You can call me:
Roman or Killens, whichever really
My age is:
20
I was born on:
December 22
I was born in:
England
I have been homeless for:
8 years
Role:
The Intellect
Roman Eugene William Killens
You can call me:
Roman or Killens, whichever really
My age is:
20
I was born on:
December 22
I was born in:
England
I have been homeless for:
8 years
Role:
The Intellect
People would describe me as being:
It depends who knows me. For the people I'm closest to, I'm quite silly with them; I'm quite myself. The majority of people, though, I don't know too well, and if we're being honest, I don't go out of my way to change that. Once I become comfortable with something, I don't like mixing it up. So I'm sure there are times where I can come off kind of rude since I'm quite a closed off person. I'm not very friendly, but I wouldn't go as far as to call myself mean. I just get kind of uncomfortable and overwhelmed and tend to over think things, so I just sort of shrink away. I tense up, and it's almost habitual for me to just be a bit more distant than I need to. That's why when I find something I like, including people, I stick to it. Of course, I have no problem with most people. I do like everyone in the basement, more or less, it probably just doesn't come off as such. So maybe I'm this stubborn, standoffish guy. I don't know. I've never asked and I don't really plan on it.
Some things I like are:
Some things I dislike are:
My biggest fears are:
If we're being honest, I just have this immense fear that I just won't amount to anything. I don't know who I'm working for or why, but I just feel that if I make one slip up, it's the end of the world. I want more from my life, but I just don't think I can get it. I hate dreaming big. I hate that outside world with all its fast paced, bustling opportunities. I'm just afraid of looking in the mirror and seeing that nothing has changed.
My dreams consist of:
I feel like they change all the time. Basically, my short term goal stays the same: just make it to the next day. Long term? I guess I don't want to die on the streets, so maybe I kind of do want to get out of here. I also want to see my family again, should I ever get the courage.
It depends who knows me. For the people I'm closest to, I'm quite silly with them; I'm quite myself. The majority of people, though, I don't know too well, and if we're being honest, I don't go out of my way to change that. Once I become comfortable with something, I don't like mixing it up. So I'm sure there are times where I can come off kind of rude since I'm quite a closed off person. I'm not very friendly, but I wouldn't go as far as to call myself mean. I just get kind of uncomfortable and overwhelmed and tend to over think things, so I just sort of shrink away. I tense up, and it's almost habitual for me to just be a bit more distant than I need to. That's why when I find something I like, including people, I stick to it. Of course, I have no problem with most people. I do like everyone in the basement, more or less, it probably just doesn't come off as such. So maybe I'm this stubborn, standoffish guy. I don't know. I've never asked and I don't really plan on it.
Some things I like are:
- Sleeping
- Autumn
- Being alone
- Pretzels
- Pickles
- Food? Just all of it.
- Cigarettes
- At the risk of sounding cocky, my tattoos
Some things I dislike are:
- Fighting, odd enough. Arguments in general
- Expectations
- Short talk
- Being around people constantly
- Finn and his god damned remarks
- Talking about anything remotely related to me before being on the streets. Whether that's me being a 'prodigy,' or talking about my parents. I hate it.
- American's fish and chips. Just stop.
My biggest fears are:
If we're being honest, I just have this immense fear that I just won't amount to anything. I don't know who I'm working for or why, but I just feel that if I make one slip up, it's the end of the world. I want more from my life, but I just don't think I can get it. I hate dreaming big. I hate that outside world with all its fast paced, bustling opportunities. I'm just afraid of looking in the mirror and seeing that nothing has changed.
My dreams consist of:
I feel like they change all the time. Basically, my short term goal stays the same: just make it to the next day. Long term? I guess I don't want to die on the streets, so maybe I kind of do want to get out of here. I also want to see my family again, should I ever get the courage.
I ended up here because:
I was born in England to a Benjamin Killens and an Emily Westin. Both of them were wealthy business people. My father was one of those invisible tycoons that owned and controlled a lot but was relatively unknown to the general public. He'd taken after his father initially, being a stockbroker, but then decided he wanted more so he went into the entrepreneurial side. My mother, on the other hand, was basically the head of a major company that sold equipment for geneticists.
I grew up comfortably, needless to say. They were both very strict on me, believing from the day that I was born that I would take on a similar path in life. They started noticing signs of "genius" from a very young age. When I was seven months, I was walking. I knew the alphabet. But then I kind of slowed down. I didn't talk until I was two, and my parents sort of freaked out because all I did was collect weird things in the backyard and sit in the library and look at these huge books that my parents were sure I couldn't read. I was taken to see someone, to see what was wrong with me; maybe I had a learning disability. It was discovered when I was three that I was somewhat of a prodigy. I took a test because my parents were worried I had developmental issues, but obviously I didn't. They said after that, it seemed like I just opened up and absorbed everything. I could read chapter books while they thought I was illiterate; I absorbed math equations and asked millions of questions. I took an IQ test when I enrolled in private school my first year and got a score of 124, the 95th percentile.
By this point I was already scared. I wasn't even a teenager and my life was moving faster than I could keep up with. My parents were ecstatic. On the phone they talked about how universities across Europe were offering enrollment, that I had so many options, how I could finish in two years if I really took my time. And the entire idea just scared the shit out of me. I didn't want this mind anymore; it was bigger than I was; it was consuming me. And that was when I ran away for the first time. I didn't make it a day before I was returned because a cop saw me walk into Arby's to use the restroom. I developed a really intense anxiety problem where I couldn't sleep at night, I would get panic attacks thinking of my parents, the future. I just felt smaller and smaller. Eventually, my grandparents convinced my parents to let me take some time off for myself. They were already retired, so we seriously just hung out the entire time. I finally left Delaware and saw other states, I went to a few different countries. When we were in Germany, I remember walking around completely unknown, nothing expected of me, and I suppose after a while I got used to the feeling.
Right after I turned thirteen, my parents surprised me for New Years. I hadn't seen them in maybe a year, so it was exciting. I was nervous at first, thinking I was going to get lectured about my future, but there was none of that. My father was nice for once, not scornful and criticizing my every move. Everything was just ethereal. It was sort of too good to be, and I was right. One morning I overheard everyone talking downstairs. My father was saying how I needed to be packed soon because the plane for England left in a few days. My grandparents were sending me back and I was going to a boarding school that would offer me special courses. I remember I had a panic attack that night. Everything was feeling like it used to, and I don't know. I was afraid of it all. All I could think of was disappointing everyone. They saw so much in me, and it made me fear it. I couldn't bear letting them down. So I took my backpack and stuffed a bunch of junk food in it, a shirt or two and then left.
I don't know how I made it the first few months. I just remember how miserable I was, how badly my stomach cramped. I was scrawny back then and was scrawnier now, so it made me a target. I'd gotten my ass beat more times than I could count, and I would have been dead if Nick didn't intervene when he did. After that, we became friends. I sort of followed him around like a puppy since I had no clue what I was doing. I basically owe that guy my life, you have no idea. I chose multiple ways of making revenue, none of which I care to detail, but it all went to my head until I started street fighting a little before I turned fifteen. I don't get any sick pleasure out of hurting people, but it sort of became an outlet and it proved to be a good survival skill. So that's what I stuck with, and now it's quite some time later and I'm here. This is the life that's accepted me. This is the life that I have.
I make a living by:
Street fighting, mainly.
I was born in England to a Benjamin Killens and an Emily Westin. Both of them were wealthy business people. My father was one of those invisible tycoons that owned and controlled a lot but was relatively unknown to the general public. He'd taken after his father initially, being a stockbroker, but then decided he wanted more so he went into the entrepreneurial side. My mother, on the other hand, was basically the head of a major company that sold equipment for geneticists.
I grew up comfortably, needless to say. They were both very strict on me, believing from the day that I was born that I would take on a similar path in life. They started noticing signs of "genius" from a very young age. When I was seven months, I was walking. I knew the alphabet. But then I kind of slowed down. I didn't talk until I was two, and my parents sort of freaked out because all I did was collect weird things in the backyard and sit in the library and look at these huge books that my parents were sure I couldn't read. I was taken to see someone, to see what was wrong with me; maybe I had a learning disability. It was discovered when I was three that I was somewhat of a prodigy. I took a test because my parents were worried I had developmental issues, but obviously I didn't. They said after that, it seemed like I just opened up and absorbed everything. I could read chapter books while they thought I was illiterate; I absorbed math equations and asked millions of questions. I took an IQ test when I enrolled in private school my first year and got a score of 124, the 95th percentile.
By this point I was already scared. I wasn't even a teenager and my life was moving faster than I could keep up with. My parents were ecstatic. On the phone they talked about how universities across Europe were offering enrollment, that I had so many options, how I could finish in two years if I really took my time. And the entire idea just scared the shit out of me. I didn't want this mind anymore; it was bigger than I was; it was consuming me. And that was when I ran away for the first time. I didn't make it a day before I was returned because a cop saw me walk into Arby's to use the restroom. I developed a really intense anxiety problem where I couldn't sleep at night, I would get panic attacks thinking of my parents, the future. I just felt smaller and smaller. Eventually, my grandparents convinced my parents to let me take some time off for myself. They were already retired, so we seriously just hung out the entire time. I finally left Delaware and saw other states, I went to a few different countries. When we were in Germany, I remember walking around completely unknown, nothing expected of me, and I suppose after a while I got used to the feeling.
Right after I turned thirteen, my parents surprised me for New Years. I hadn't seen them in maybe a year, so it was exciting. I was nervous at first, thinking I was going to get lectured about my future, but there was none of that. My father was nice for once, not scornful and criticizing my every move. Everything was just ethereal. It was sort of too good to be, and I was right. One morning I overheard everyone talking downstairs. My father was saying how I needed to be packed soon because the plane for England left in a few days. My grandparents were sending me back and I was going to a boarding school that would offer me special courses. I remember I had a panic attack that night. Everything was feeling like it used to, and I don't know. I was afraid of it all. All I could think of was disappointing everyone. They saw so much in me, and it made me fear it. I couldn't bear letting them down. So I took my backpack and stuffed a bunch of junk food in it, a shirt or two and then left.
I don't know how I made it the first few months. I just remember how miserable I was, how badly my stomach cramped. I was scrawny back then and was scrawnier now, so it made me a target. I'd gotten my ass beat more times than I could count, and I would have been dead if Nick didn't intervene when he did. After that, we became friends. I sort of followed him around like a puppy since I had no clue what I was doing. I basically owe that guy my life, you have no idea. I chose multiple ways of making revenue, none of which I care to detail, but it all went to my head until I started street fighting a little before I turned fifteen. I don't get any sick pleasure out of hurting people, but it sort of became an outlet and it proved to be a good survival skill. So that's what I stuck with, and now it's quite some time later and I'm here. This is the life that's accepted me. This is the life that I have.
I make a living by:
Street fighting, mainly.
Height/Weight or build:
I'm basically all height and that's about it. I'm 6'2 and pretty slim. I'm not bone thin; I couldn't make a living by fighting if I was, so obviously I have a somewhat muscular build, but I'm no body builder. I still consider myself lanky and pale, just as I was when I was a kid.
Eye color:
Blue
Hair color:
Dark brown/black
Other:
I've got a bit of bruises everywhere from fighting. And I've got a lot of tattoos. My hands, my arms, my legs, and a few across my chest. I also never seem to stop having the resemblance of endless bedhead.
Face claim:
Ash Stymest
I'm basically all height and that's about it. I'm 6'2 and pretty slim. I'm not bone thin; I couldn't make a living by fighting if I was, so obviously I have a somewhat muscular build, but I'm no body builder. I still consider myself lanky and pale, just as I was when I was a kid.
Eye color:
Blue
Hair color:
Dark brown/black
Other:
I've got a bit of bruises everywhere from fighting. And I've got a lot of tattoos. My hands, my arms, my legs, and a few across my chest. I also never seem to stop having the resemblance of endless bedhead.
Face claim:
Ash Stymest
